


Dagger To The Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Atsumu and Sakusa are at each others throats and have to learn to give a little, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Time Skip, by hurting each other just a touch, gratuitous use of the words teeth and dagger, hand holding, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26889373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Atsumu could hear the frown in Kiyoomi’s voice, the grumble and half fed irritation as he gave in to the only one willing to come to a horticultural exhibit. Regret and addiction pulsed in Atsumu’s chest and he slid to a stop in the next alley of plants, haunting the doors to the outer arena. He didn’t like making Omi upset… But the taste of irritation, reaction, was more exhilarating than a rollercoaster.Atsumu and Kiyoomi have been at each other's throats since they met, ignoring the affection that trembled beneath the surface. Until barbed words hit a little too hard and they have to rethink who they are.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 98





	Dagger To The Heart

“I think I love you.” Omi’s voice was soft. Like dewdrops building under the moonlight, a touch of a world untethered to mortal nature.

Atsumu looked up at the words, eyes widening slightly. He never thought Sakusa would say anything like that to him, to anyone. He didn’t know Kiyoomi could sound so gentle, so enamored with anything. Just the sweet sound of those honeyed words from a voice so deeply entrenched in Atsumu’s heart made him-

Wait.

“Are you talking to that  _ orchid _ ?” Atsumu hissed over his best friend’s (don’t tell Suna or Osamu) shoulder. Kiyoomi blinked and glanced at him before nodding, looking rather confused.

“Do you know how hard it is to keep an orchid alive? People have sold their souls and still had the plant die. And this beauty is just… breathtaking…” Omi breathed as he turned back to the flower.

Atsumu wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or just lay on the ground pathetically. He considered both for a moment, before deciding that both would get him kicked and turned away instead making his way towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Omi was on his heels in seconds, glancing almost suspiciously at the family admiring a different plant. 

“Anywhere that’s not  _ orchids _ .” Atsumu snipped primly, turning around the corner before fingers caught the back of his jacket. They didn’t pull so he didn't stop, half charging his way down the greenhouse. He was willing to look at anything that wasn’t a pretty purple flower that haunted Atsumu’s memory like a pulsing memory of Ushijima’s school colors and the words that Omi would never say to him.

“I thought you said they were pretty, fine, what did you want to look at next?”

Atsumu could hear the frown in Kiyoomi’s voice, the grumble and half fed irritation as he gave in to the only one willing to come to a horticultural exhibit. Regret and addiction pulsed in Atsumu’s chest and he slid to a stop in the next alley of plants, haunting the doors to the outer arena. He didn’t like making Omi upset… But the taste of irritation,  _ reaction _ , was more exhilarating than a rollercoaster.

What could he do next? What could he play with? What nerve was left uncovered for little claws to dig in? How could Atsumu get that voice to speak again, something more than flat intonation?

He turned to look at Kiyoomi, eyes immediately going to meet his. Eyebrows were scrunched together, black eyes just barely skimming Atsumu’s before they shot off to stare through the green house glass.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was  _ pouting _ .

“I cannot believe you’re pouting because I don’t want to look at orchids.” The laugh slipped out before Atsumu could stop it and Kiyoomi instantly looked offended. The fingers dropped from Atsumu’s jacket and he turned to look at a fern instead.

“I’m not pouting, I’m annoyed with you. I wanted to spend time looking them over.”

_ Yeah _ , Atsumu thought,  _ you’re definitely not pouting. Omi-Omi is too cute and honestly this is unfair. _

He opened his mouth again, tossing aside any mental warning signs, picking at the bared weakness Omi had just shown him.

“Then go look at them and I’ll go stare at a tree.” Atsumu made a shooing motion, watching with fascination as Kiyoomi’s shoulders went rigid. Omi  _ hated  _ being shooed off, Atsumu loved the way his eyes glowed with righteous fury.

“You said you would stay with me, if you wanted to do your own thing you should have told me. I would have asked someone who can actually appreciate something that isn’t a leather ball.” Kiyoomi snapped, looking more offended then Atsumu thought he would be. His voice was a growl again, the sweet honey coating of affection he had for the flower was long gone.

“Like who? Meian-kun? Bokkun? Tell me who my Omi-Omi-kun could have called?” Atsumu purred and he knew, he  _ knew _ , he was pushing Kiyoomi to say something that would hurt him. He couldn’t help it.

There was a reason they weren’t together, why Atsumu couldn’t confess, why glances were the only thing that were shared even on the haziest, drunkest of nights. Neither of them were soft lovers, they weren’t like Shoyo or Bokuto, Suna or Osamu. They weren’t built for sweet love. They had too many teeth bared at any moment, too much fire burning under skin for that. 

A fox and a weasel.

Jackals.

Yet, their words were daggers aimed precisely where they were meant to.

“I would have called Ushijima.” Omi dropped the name and Atsumu didn’t need to remove the black mask to know that Omi’s lips were curled in a fanged smirk.

Atsumu often thought in a past life they killed each other many times. They were just too good at this.

The familiar ache of jealousy rolled in his chest and Atsumu bit back all the words he could say. He had a mountain of them, words that would make Kiyoomi recoil and the wounds they’ve already carved so much bloodier.

_ I could be here with Kita, I wouldn’t mind walking with him _ , Atsumu thought at him like he was spitting venom,  _ Oh or maybe Kageyama, finish that date you interrupted all those years ago. Aran would love to talk to me about every one of these flowers. _

Kiyoomi looked like he was waiting for those words to spill from Atsumu’s lips, like he was aching to start the fight they had been dancing around since they met. Atsumu refused to give him that satisfaction, regardless of how distracting the knowledge of Omi’s eyes on his lips was.

“Then you know what to do next time don’t ya? Pick someone who ain’t me, ain’t that what you wanted in the first place?” He said instead of burying fangs in the gaping wound Kiyoomi just showed him.

Everyone in Black Jackals knew how Kiyoomi had taken the news that Ushijima was engaged to his highschool sweetheart. Everyone knew how to dance around the reminders, how to soothe the bloody wound, the right words to stitch it up and wait for them to be torn out again. Everyone but Atsumu.

Until now.

The ache to snap back was tantalizing. Like a full course meal had been laid inches from his lips and he turned away instead. Part of him was confused, curious about his own actions but the bud curling in his sternum told a different story.

Affection was nipping at the edge of the collar he’d tightened on it the day he first saw Kiyoomi smile. Keeping the balance of fanged teeth and loving touch was his own personal orchid, leaving him struggling to find a balance before one overwhelmed the other and everything they built died.

Regret tugged annoyingly at his heart, reminding him that he didn’t want Kiyoomi to leave. He didn’t want Kiyoomi to hurt. He wanted to spend the day with him. He wanted to see the smile that danced across his face once a year like a godly visit. He wanted to be the one in the morning passing him coffee. He wanted to tease and grin and know Kiyoomi was humming along with each prank. He wanted Kiyoomi safe and warm at home. He wanted Kiyoomi to turn to him, when things were too much, and find nothing but safety. He wanted to spend a month tracing over his body, a year tasting his lips, a century making him laugh. 

He didn’t know how to do that.

_ They _ didn’t know how to do that.

“You’re an idiot Miya.” Kiyoomi finally managed to wrestle past his own demons, black eyes flashing with hurt and confusion.

Atsumu knew better than to dissect it. It would just cause more questions, more pain when they were answered with the inevitable  _ we’re not good for each other _ .

“Keep calling me Miya and I’m going to think you’re wishin’ I was ‘Samu.” The dagger is buried in Omi’s chest before Atsumu even realized he was throwing it. Pain spread through both of them as they stared at each other, speechless.

Three blinks.

Omi gave him three blinks of increasing hurt and offense. Then he turned away with a shuddering breath that reminded Atsumu that there was a reason that the affection he felt was leashed.

Atsumu felt that shudder like a wave of pain through his own heart. His breath cloyed with want and need in his lungs. He pressed back the tears that built in his eyes as he stepped outside the greenhouse. The door closed behind him with a finality that made him choke. He was an idiot.

What was new?

  
  


The feeling of cloth still danced over Kiyoomi’s fingertips. He’d  _ had _ Atsumu, right in his grip. He could have ignored the pouting comment, he ignored everyone else after all. He could have tightened his grip and stepped closer, refused to be shaken off until whatever was crawling under Atsumu’s skin settled and the next green object caught his attention.

Atsumu had a gift, Kiyoomi would admit it willingly. He was a lighter with sole access to the gunpowder that lined Kiyoomi’s nerves.

Nobody else had quite managed to bury claws into his heart and lungs, no one else could cause Kiyoomi to choke on his own feelings. They festered, growing in his ribcage like a new kind of mold that couldn’t be stopped. Kiyoomi loathed it and coveted it all in the same heartbeat.

He thought about ripping it out and lighting it on fire, smashing the embers and ashes into the earth.

He fantasized about cradling it, bringing it to the light to show it off to everyone.

He was a fool.

Kiyoomi hadn’t meant to bring up Ushijima. He knew how perfect that barb was, like a poison tainted and tampered with to hurt Atsumu and Atsumu alone. To make him crumple and snap and bare those fangs he was so proud of.

Fangs he’d started to hide as he grew older. Kiyoomi didn’t know why seeing the fangs hidden away panicked him, but it did. What were they without aimed weapons?

What was the appeal of an easy catch? Why would Atsumu give him a glance if it wasn’t to continue this fight, this eternal dance they were trapped in? Did Kiyoomi exist outside of sharp claws and dangerous words?

Then there was that purred nickname.

_ My Omi-Omi-kun _ . 

Like all of Kiyoomi’s nightmares and daydreams had been given verbal form with a single phrase. Kiyoomi hated and loved him.

He loved Miya Atsumu, bold and laughing and vibrant, so much it hurt. He loved the dramatics, the smarmy looks over perfected serves, the late nights of soft looks and gentle encouragements. He loved seeing golden eyes alight with deadly aim on the other team, the endless fire that burned in him and was ready to alight the world.

Gods he  _ hurt _ .

Kiyoomi didn’t want Ushijima, didn’t want Aran or Bokuto. He didn’t see Osamu in anything Atsumu did. He saw  _ Atsumu _ , and he wanted  _ Atsumu _ .

The world fell apart at the edge of his vision whenever Atsumu entered it, when that laugh echoed Kiyoomi’s ears perked up. When a touch glided past, always far enough away but never close enough, Kiyoomi ached for it.

Yet.

Here they were.

The world's pettiest fight over  _ orchids and pouting _ . Storming away from each other like a divorcing couple. So close to finding a path out of this and lighting it on fire at the same time.

They killed each other in a thousand lifetimes before, Kiyoomi was sure of it. It was in their blood to fight and snap but  _ gods _ they were addicted to being close.

His love was a punishment from the gods. It wasn’t the mysophobia, it wasn’t the OCD, it wasn’t even the cousin who kept showing up to drink him under the table under the shared experience of broken hearts. No.

It was the way even now, as hurt turned his blood to a dull ache, he couldn’t think of anything else but Atsumu. It was the way he thought of asking for forgiveness, in asking for a kiss, a touch, a flutter of long lashes on indescribably beautiful eyes.

It tormented him, like a proper curse, as he traced the leaves of a lily with his eyes. Thinking of nothing but how the blue tiger lily would look so good pressed behind Atsumu’s ear. Thinking of the bewildered laugh and curious eyes that would meet his and accept the gift without thought.

“Thought I lost you.” There was an edge to the voice and Kiyoomi recognizes it seconds before venom can shoot from his lips. Panic. Worry.

Kiyoomi lifted his head slowly, glancing at Atsumu like he was waiting for another verbal blow. Halfway across the greenhouse, (when had Kiyoomi wandered so far?) Kiyoomi could see the orchids he had been waiting at. They were completely surrounded by people now.

“I don’t think you could.” Kiyoomi doesn’t know where the words came from. They slipped free like honey though, desperate to soothe and sweeten the previous argument.

Atsumu’s eyes were trained on his, ticking away at them like he was an opponent across the net.

Kiyoomi hated it.

Omi loved it.

Centimeter by centimeter, Atsumu’s shoulders dropped. Something softened in the hard metal of his eyes and for a second Kiyoomi thought he was looking at the sunrise.

“I thought you were waiting for your chance to run.” Atsumu said and he looked just as confused at the words’ origin as Kiyoomi felt. 

What were they if they weren’t barbed wire and knives?

“Are you saying you wouldn’t chase after me?” Kiyoomi half meant it as a snap, a reminder that Atsumu followed him everywhere for the sole purpose of being annoying. Yet his voice trembled, just a touch on the last word. Revealing the actual concern, the panic that Atsumu would walk away.

He knew it was selfish.

He knew it was stupid.

He knew Atsumu owed him nothing and vice versa.

He knew  _ they _ weren’t worth anything.

He knew this fight had started at the beginning of time and he wanted to keep Atsumu close until the end of it.

“Of course I would, where would my Omi-Omi-kun be without me?” Atsumu chirped and his shoulders dropped. A grin, vibrant and beautiful, graced his lips as his eyes glinted. Dangerous, gold, a reminder of sharp teeth just below and so beautiful.

“Schweiden Adlers, more than likely.” Omi said honestly, a smirk growing on his own lips at the dumbstruck look on Atsumu’s face. He turned away to avoid the emotions he knew would flood Atsumu’s face.

Already the urge to nip at his heels was growing but the ache from Atsumu barb earlier was enough to stop it. 

How could he, Sakusa Kiyoomi, want Osamu when he had a fire burning right in front of him? How could Atsumu think that Kiyoomi saw anyone else?

The sound of something wet made him look over again, this time much more subtle.

Atsumu was lathering his hands with sanitizer that was carefully held under his elbow. His tongue was pressed between his teeth while he tried not to drop the bottle and Kiyoomi felt the wild urge to kiss him.

It was a disgusting thing. Kiyoomi didn’t know if he brushed his teeth or when he last ate or anything.

He wanted to taste his name on that tongue.

Kiyoomi pulled his mind away, ignoring the little monster reminding him that he was in the perfect position to tug Atsumu’s belt undone and leave him to be pantsed in public. Actually…

Kiyoomi turned back to the flower when gold eyes flashed over at him suspiciously.

He could control himself. He wasn’t like the brainless monkey’s he played volleyball with. He had some self control.

“Why didn’t you go to the Adlers then?” The question toes the line of their eternal fight and a hope for a new fate and Kiyoomi knows the gods hate him.

What could he even say?

Sure he could bring up Ushijima’s engagement, that had been painful but it wasn’t enough because Kiyoomi had lost that crush in third year to a fool with gold hair and sharp teeth. He could point out Hoshiumi’s mouth was worse than Bokutos’s but it was about equal. He could say he wanted to defeat Ushijima fair and square but he could have gone to the Falcons to do that, or simply taken the ace position from Ushijima.

Omi could tell the truth. That the final years training camp had shown a light to Atsumu he hadn’t seen before, wrenched from his brother by two opposing wants. That he had started to slip when Atsumu had come to him, quiet and desperate and begged to play until he could forget the pain of a twin’s betrayal. That he had first felt the want of lips on his own when Atsumu had grinned at him, feral and cunning, across the net and promised a fight. That he had thought of Atsumu late at night in the college dorms when Atsumu blew up his phone with ridiculously dramatic texts. That even as blood dropped from bitten words and pain rattled in their hearts from endless battles, Atsumu was a steady presence of light and stability and Kiyoomi loathed the days apart. That when Atsumu visited the college campus, loud and needy as he was, Kiyoomi knew he carried extra wipes and masks and was more stubborn than a bull when anyone else tried to get into Kiyoomi’s space.

Kiyoomi could tell him the secret of the mold like love coating his heart and begging to be bled out just for a smile. Omi could bring up the fact that Atsumu was like no one else. Atsumu was bright but deadly, like the setting sun driving light into your eyes and cutting off everything else. Atsumu was cunning and determined, beautiful and fanged, steady and ever moving.

Omi could tell him all that, but that wasn’t them.

“Figure it out Atsumu,” Omi purred the name, letting it linger it’s taste over his tongue, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He tossed a smirk, knowing his eyes were more than enough for Atsumu to read, over his shoulder.

A moment of silence spread between them and Kiyoomi nearly leapt out of his skin when a hand clamped onto his. He spun to stare at Atsumu but Atsumu is staring hard at the plant like he’s trying to ask why he was holding Kiyoomi’s hand.

“I think orchids are stupid.” Atsumu declared and Kiyoomi didn’t bother to stop himself from smacking Atsumu in the head with their intertwined hands. Gold flashed at him, black met it evenly and a glimmer of hope and want seemed to light.

“I think orchids are stupid,” Atsumu said again and Kiyoomi let violence dance in his mind, “but I like the aquarium.”

Atsumu hated the aquarium. They literally went six months ago and he didn’t do anything except complain and-

Atsumu complained the entire time and wrapped himself around Kiyoomi whenever they saw a shark. Or lionfish. Or really anything larger than a shrimp.

(“Osamu tried to kill me in the ocean when we were nine, I swear, I can’t even look at them. I know they want to help him drown me.” Atsumu had said, punching a laughing Bokuto and quickly diving as close as he could to Omi’s side as a shark swam past peacefully. Kiyoomi had held out an arm and let himself be clung to for nearly three hours.)

Atsumu still wasn’t looking at him, but his hand squeezed Omi’s questioningly.

“Did something happen outside?” Omi asked. He didn’t mean for his voice to soften, he didn’t mean to sound concerned like a lover. (They were fighters, destined to aim for the heart forever after all). Atsumu winced and his fingers started to pull free before Omi intertwined them instead.

“I called Kita,”  _ to complain _ , goes unsaid but Kiyoomi heard it, “he yelled at me...Well.. he just gave me the silent treatment but it’s essentially the same thing. He told me…”

The words caught in Atsumu’s throat and Omi wasn’t sure what to feel. He didn’t know why but he didn’t want to know what Kita said. He didn’t care. Atsumu’s hand was in his and Omi had more barbs on his tongue than ever before but honey slid over it without effort. Omi rather liked it.

“Are you asking me on a date, Atsumu? I would hope so, because if I let you keep holding my hand I want something in return out of it…. Like your volleyball magazine from 2008 with the special about Blanco.” Even with honey, the words are spiced with a reminder that they’re meant to be dragging each other apart by the throat.

Atsumu clenched Omi’s hand tightly, effectively stopping him from ever breaking free (Omi didn’t want to). He bared his fangs in a deadly grin and Omi felt addicted to the sight.

“I’ll break yer floppy hands first.” Atsumu fake threatened and Omi felt at home.

They weren’t lovers. They carried too many knives and poisons for that, too many words perfectly formed over years of antisocial behavior to be something as sweet as ‘lovers’.

They didn’t want that anyways. They wanted the fight, the burn, the teeth on nerves and arrows to the heart. They wanted each other.

Maybe, Omi thought as Atsumu dragged him to whatever tree he’d seen when ranting to his old captain, maybe Atsumu’s fangs aren’t the only ones being put away.


End file.
